


First Time it Meant Something

by Schmuzz



Series: Of Many Devices [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Fluff, Greek Mythology - Freeform, M/M, Myan Week 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 19:18:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11515755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schmuzz/pseuds/Schmuzz
Summary: Ryan enters the strange and dangerous (though quite rewarding) process of being romanced by a god.





	First Time it Meant Something

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for day one of Myan Week 2017! For the day: First, it’s a continuation of my myan mythology!au. It’s kind of a fusion of a few suggestions I’ve gotten from anons since I put out the first fic. Hope you enjoy!

**i.**

A human being loved by a god – a rare, though hardly impossible occurrence. Certainly it was a circumstance that occurred often enough for so many stories to appear on the subject; Ryan had heard a fair number of them – Endymion, Europa, Ganymede, and the dozens of other human lovers that particular gods had amassed over the ages. He was also more than familiar with the unfortunate ends – or beginnings, or even sometimes middles – most of those love affairs entailed. If he had half a mind when Michael had first laid eyes on him, he may have decided to shoo the god away instead of so gallantly welcoming him into his bed. But it had been such a long night, and Michael was so beautiful and warm and that first kiss had awoken something deep within him, something he had long thought was dead –

He hadn’t turned Michael away, was the point. And despite the heaps of evidence that suggested his life would now be tragically shortened because of that fact, he couldn’t quite bring himself to be worried.

For one, Michael’s supposed wife was not actually his wife, or a woman at all. “Lindsay – her true name. She was originally the goddess of love, but she didn’t care for it. It attracts a lot of creeps, she said.” They were in bed, lingering together and unwilling to fall asleep despite the late hour. “She got someone else to switch with her – a once minor god named Blaine. If you want someone to symbolize reckless passion then he’s the one for it. And Lindsay moved on to other responsibilities, something with witchcraft and cats and necromancy, or something. She’s in the underworld often and left to her own devices.”

“That must be lonely for you,” Ryan ventured. 

Michael turned over to look at Ryan properly, dark eyes shining with impishness. “Why? I have you.” His hand brushed down the expanse of Ryan’s naked back, and the wave of heat made him shiver into the mattress.

So there was no jealous lover to strike him down, at the very least. If something tragic were to befall him, it would most likely be from Michael himself.

But Michael was… How to describe him? It was confusing, how such passion and fire – even rage at times – could smolder and grow without ever scorching him. How Michael’s words and gaze and touch were burning, but around him, always playful, affectionate,  _careful_. 

As silly as it was, he felt that he wasn’t so out of line to believe, deep within his heart, that Michael loved him, and did so ardently.

Maybe it was foolish thinking, but the  god was always so eager to visit him for any little thing, and nearly always arrived with some sort of gift – food, wine, clothing, pottery – even swords, though Ryan had no idea what he was meant to do with that. His days in the military were brief, boring, and had occurred over a decade ago by now. He was left to sell the blades to a few customers who had seen them hanging on his wall. Even then, what may have been a capital offense to other deities, Michael had just pouted, and asked what type of items he could shower Ryan with, instead.

“I don’t appear to be any good at giving you gifts,” he remarked, once he realized that he was the one who drank most, if not all of the wine he had given to Ryan.

“I don’t need gifts, Michael. You’re here, are you not?”

“I am.”

Ryan sauntered over to him, putting a hand on his chest. He could hear the beating of an immortal heart that was over a thousand years old, and feel the heat that radiated through the fabric of his robes. “Then that’s all that I need.”

Michael took Ryan’s hand and kissed the knuckles. “You don’t know how rare it is for someone to say that to me.” He pressed the human’s hand to his cheek. “Supplying all the gods and goddesses with weapons, armor, saddles – they drive me like a pack mule, honestly. Even after making an army of automatons to do it when I’m not there.”

Despite the domesticity of the moment, a strange word drew Ryan’s attention. “Automatons?”

“Yes, machines I built. They can run through some limited instructions. I feed them into their machinery – I made them from iron and bronze – and they can make, well, whatever I want them to.” He laughed, seeing Ryan’s look of amazement. “What, interested?”

“I’ve never heard of that sort of thing before! How are they powered? Do they look like men, or – how can they move? Can they speak?” Michael continued to laugh, taking Ryan’s hand and spinning him around the small room like a dance.

“If you’re so curious, why don’t I take you to see them yourself?”

“M-Me? On Olympus?”

“One of the peaks is my palace – and workshop.”

“Isn’t it… forbidden?” Ryan’s own heart thudded so loudly he could feel it in his temples. This was sounding like the beginning of his own destruction.

Michael just smiled, however. “We’ll only get punished if we get caught. I’ll take care of you – and like I said, no one stops by unless they need something. There are plenty of places to hide you even if that comes to pass. So.” He yanked Ryan’s hands forward until their chests were touching. “Do you want to?”

Stupid, stupid, stupid – there was no way he could go, or at least, no way he’d survive such a visit. But, if Michael had machinery that looked like that… This would be his only chance to see the splendor of such things, and Michael seemed so pleased at the thought. “I’ll do it,” he said, watching Michael’s eyes light up with joy, dimples showing on his cheeks as he grinned wide. He leaned up and pressed a hot kiss to Ryan’s mouth.

“I’ll leave now, then,” he murmured, “and tomorrow, I’ll take you.” He let go of Ryan’s hands and stepped away, vanishing in a gust of ash that disappeared into nothing.

The feeling of Michael’s mouth on his own was still seared to his lips long after any evidence of the god had gone.

 

 

 

**ii.**

Ryan was out in the garden when he smelled fire, and a breeze tickled his hair, and he knew Michael had appeared behind him.

He was greeted with a kiss, Michael smiling wide against his mouth, and when he pulled away he noticed Michael was holding a long strip of fabric. Ryan lifted the edge of it, and felt it to be silk, like the robes Michael wore. “What’s this?”

“It’s yours. I had it made for you to wear.”

“Me? I don’t –”

“Well, you can’t go to Olympus in that, can you?” Ryan looked down, fiddling with his own robes. He had been used to the impure white of his cloaks, the bulky pins and braided rope belts. Surely, if he really was going to be residing in Michael’s palace - and his workshop - he would need clothes he wouldn’t mind dirtying. But Michael wouldn’t even entertain the idea.

“What if I ruin it?”

“Then I will take great satisfaction in taking it off of you, just as I will take great satisfaction in taking these robes off of you now.” He fiddled with the staying pins of Ryan’s outfit until his clothes fell down his body, onto the floor. He quickly stripped the rest of his garments off, Michael’s gaze hot on his bared skin – which was hardly a new sensation, though it was one he had yet to get used to.

Michael seemed to notice his hesitance. “Something wrong?” he asked, hands hovering above Ryan’s body.

Ryan looked over his shoulder at the other houses. His garden was constructed in the conventional style, and was partially enclosed by a rock wall, but the walls were only chest high, and his neighbors were merely a stone’s throw away. “We’re a bit, close, don’t you think?” He nodded over the garden wall.

Michael chuckled. “As if they haven’t seen this at the gymnasium? Or when you go to bathe?”

“Well, you’re not with me when I do those things.”

“Don’t be too sure,” he said with a wink. “I might be some little cat, or a bird, coming down to check on you.”

“Now, why would you do that, when being in your regular form is much more convenient for coming onto me?” Michael shrugged playfully, but made quick work of wrapping the new garments around Ryan, clothing him again.

Gone was the white wool, the worn sandals, the rope. Michael presented him with the softest tunic, made with silk, dyed multi-color, and sewn with gold thread. It was fastened with jeweled buttons and clips that glittered in the light of the hearth, so many that Ryan eventually had to give in and let Michael help him dress.

The belt came next. Luckily this was merely leather, as soft as well-worn boots but black as pitch. Michael tugged it over Ryan’s narrow waist and fastened it with a smile. Ryan stepped into shoes and Michael laced them up his ankles; they too were leather, as his old ones were, but they were as comfortable as being barefoot on sand.

“Is that it?” Ryan asked quietly, trying not to sound nervous of what would come after Michael pronounced him ready. Of what would become of him so soon.

“The peplos,” Michael reminded him, unclipping his own garment from his shoulders - it was nearly translucent linen, more fit for being a makeshift sieve than offering any sort of elemental protection. It still managed to sparkle, though, more shining gold thread being thrust upon him and fastened by Michael’s steady hands. The fabric fell down Ryan’s side, fluttering against his skin. He looked down at himself; he had doubts a human could even assemble such an outfit; he had never seen one so fine in Lemnos itself, much less one that he could ever find or afford.

“I look like I’m on fire,” he murmured, eyes wide in realization. The tunic itself went from yellow to orange to red in a marvelous fade, all the colors seamlessly blurring together like some fanciful artist had painted the outfit on him.

“Is it not fitting, for the beloved of fire and forge himself?” Michael asked with a raised brow, a cocky expression flitting across his face. Ryan didn’t rise to the bait, feeling too nervous to move, much less flirt with the other.

“Is that all?” he managed, wrapping an arm around himself.

“I suppose… though I do have one more thing.” Michael made a crown of golden laurels appear from nowhere, placing them atop Ryan’s head. They nestled into his hair, and he felt his face flush from embarrassment. “They suit you.”

“I feel ridiculous.”

“You need to dress impressively,” Michael replied easily, fingertips brushing along Ryan’s arm.

“And who am I trying to impress?” Michael paused at that. “Are your automatons very picky about who they let into your workshop?” Michael grinned.

“Precisely that. Though I can’t deny that I like to give you fine things – and if you say you can’t use them in your day to day life here,” he said pointedly, “then perhaps this is a special enough occasion to warrant something elegant, don’t you think?”

“If you wanted me to wear nicer clothing, you could have asked.”

“It’s not like that,” Michael said with a wave of his hand. “Merely… I can give you nice things so easily, there’s quite a bit of temptation to do so. And besides, if I gave you a dozen fine robes to wear, would you have put them on?”

“Probably not,” Ryan admitted.

“Well then,” Michael said; comment enough. “Shall we go now?” He slipped his hand into Ryan’s, and Ryan immediately interlaced their fingers. As usual, the points where he and Michael touched were an unburning fire, an endless source of heat. He looked into his eyes.

“I suppose there’s nothing else to do here…” Ryan said, casting a final look around his home.

“Keep a tight hold on my hand. And… you may want to close your eyes – I don’t want you to get sick.” Ryan immediately nodded, squeezing his eyes shut and grasping at Michael’s hand. He felt a wave of dizziness wash over him, like he was deep in the ocean, being tossed about by waves; even the floor seemed to vanish beneath his feet. The only thing that remained certain was Michael’s hand in his own, and the radiating heat from where their skin was pressed together. Ryan focused hard on that, and some seconds, or some minutes later, Michael shook their arms and said, “You can open your eyes now.” And Ryan did.

Ryan knew that a god must have lived in splendor, but what he saw was so magnificent it stood incomprehensible to his very eyes. They were walking out amongst the clouds, and their matter made his feet damp, but he did not fall through them, held either by Michael or by whatever the environment was enchanted with. Overhead were rustic spires that held Michael’s palace, all shining and gleaming as bright as molten ore. Michael was already walking him towards the entrance, but he still craned his neck as far back as he could to see the towers, their glistening bodies only interrupted for the occasional gape of a window or balcony.

Michael waved his hand, and two doors – as large as three men stacked on top of each other – silently opened for them to pass through. The hard marble floor beneath his feet was almost too solid after walking on air, and he needed to take a moment to steady his feet. He looked down, and realized the marble beneath him was made of millions of shards, placed so precisely that there wasn’t a single space between them, and the walls were all painted murals, depictions of Michael on some great adventures. Small torches placed along the room illuminated everything as though the sun was shining directly on them. “What do you think?” Michael said, voice sounding distant. Ryan reflexively squeezed the god’s hand, finding they were still connected there.

“I might faint,” Ryan answered truthfully, eyes roving around at the grandeur, the impossible level of labor that must have taken place, the sheer scope and size – it boggled his senses.

“Would you feel more comfortable in my workshop?” Workshop – with bellows and metal and those automatons Michael mentioned.

“Well,” Ryan swallowed. “Can’t be any worse, can it?”

Michael walked them through room after room, large and precisely decorated. As he paid closer attention to the figures in the murals, Ryan could make out a few familiar gods based on what they were depicted with. “You spend an awful amount of time in the underworld,” Ryan observed at length, “The - the ruler there looks younger than I expected..”

“Oh – yes, with Gavin. He’s an interesting guy. You may end up running into him at some point.” Ryan balked at the idea of the king of the underworld showing up in his garden next. “He’s quite friendly, don’t worry. And anyway, his domain resides under the earth – the best metals and gems I get come from him.”

“Oh,” Ryan answered, dumbly.

“Lindsay also resides down there, sometimes. She keeps Gavin’s lover, Meg, company, the months she’s down there.”

“Gavin has a lover?”

“Oh, sure. I mean, she kind of followed him down there one day – curiosity and everything – and him, being an idiot, tried to give her food to eat to make her more comfortable! She accidentally ended up binding herself to the underworld for half the year. Her friend got all pissed about it, still rages on with snowstorms and everything when she goes to be with Gavin, more out of habit these days than anything else. But that happened eons ago.”

Ryan frowned. “Are you telling me that Gavin inadvertently caused the seasons to change?”

“Well, yes.”

“Please tell me you never stumbled into any creations of your own,” Michael shrugged, sending a playful smile back to Ryan before going through another set of larger than life doors – these ones finally leading to Michael’s workshop.

It was hotter here, steam filling part of the workshop as metals were constantly heated and cooled. The reverberating bang of metal on metal carried throughout the room, and he could see moving creatures ducking and roving about, hitting or cutting or pouring or polishing, all sitting at long benches or before enormous machines. The flurry of movement stretched in front of him farther than he could see, and when Michael took his arm and led him between the benches he nearly reared back and begged to stay in place.

“This – this is amazing,” Ryan managed after a few minutes, eyeing some of the automatons at work. The nearest one was sharpening a golden arrow, its entire body made out of gleaming metal, instead of feathers; after finding it to be of an appropriate quality, it dropped it into a quiver by its feet. Ryan crouched down, reaching out a hand to feel the arrow himself.

Michael put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t touch that. It’s for the cupids.” Ryan cast a skeptical glance up at the other. “If you prick your finger you fall into a blinding lust for the first person you see.”

Ryan stood up, taking a step back towards Michael.

“I imagine you wouldn’t want to be taken over by eros,” Michael added. “Always seemed more of a pragmatic lover to me.”

Ryan looked over his shoulder at Michael. “As if you wouldn’t be pleased with me having to deal with that. Don’t you complain that I’m not insatiable enough?” He nearly yelped when Michael wrapped his arms around his middle, a hand sliding up along his chest.

“Only in jest,” Michael defended, nuzzling into his neck. Judging by the way his skin heated up, Michael was brushing his lips along his throat. “I’d never want to turn you into something you’re not. As… appealing as the image of you overtaken with lust seems, I think I’d rather turn you into that myself.” He slipped away from Ryan and began walking further into his workshop. “Come along, I want to show you the rest.”

Ryan shook himself and followed on Michael’s heels, realizing that the workshop was so large it was as though it had no end; it seemed as though his eyes failed him before he could see the opposing wall.

After some minutes spent walking he realized why this was; the workshop itself had no opposing wall; instead, it opened into the heavens, and the vast clouds of steam that rose from the cooling of metals traveled up into the sky, effectively hiding the workshop’s opening from anyone who might have been able to reach this height.

“If any god is eager to see me, they usually come through the clouds,” Michael explained. Ryan tensed. “Relax, I’m not expecting anyone now; moreover, they all like to make an entrance, you’d have some warning.”

“That doesn’t reassure me much.” But of course, Ryan’s curiosity got the better of his sensibilities, and he was quickly drawn into seeing how Michael directed his automatons, from the smashing of ore into usable pieces, the forming of moulds and heating of metals, to the finer points of detailing and soldering slight pieces together.

Unlike humans, the automatons didn’t tire, but instead worked at a continuous pace, each performing a small task allotted to them before passing their work to another further down the line. There was something hypnotic in the pattern of the movements, and the heat of the room and the motion of air circulating from the great hall into the sky outside made the head dizzy. He and Michael watched the process continue - for multiple projects in multiple lines, all taking place on multiple tables - until they reached the doorway to the workshop, seeing a finished project in the matter of half an hour or less. By the end Ryan felt exhilarated and exhausted at once, as though he was the one who had personally manufactured a dozen swords and shields, one hundred arrows, and a suit of armor capable of bringing a division of men down. He touched the latter of these, a gauntlet to be exact; it was still warm from its processing.

“I think I have an order of lightning bolts that need to be completed, too,” Michael supplied, watching Ryan. “But shall we do something else instead? A tour of my rooms, perhaps?”

Ryan would have been content to stay in the workshop, examining this and that, observing how so many wonderous things were made at inhuman speeds. But before he could come to such a decision one way or another, there was the sound of a crash in the distance - near the open entrance of the workshop. A moment later, a person swore.

Rather, a god.

Ryan felt his blood freeze, holding his body in place. Michael didn’t look much better. Apparently he never intended for guests to arrive at the palace. He hurriedly looked around before spotting a large wicker basket - within which contained the finished swords, all gleaming. Michael knocked it over, shoving the swords out before beckoning for Ryan to crawl inside.

“Hurry!” Michael pleaded, when Ryan cast a glance behind him. He wriggled inside, his head near the opening, and using strength that Ryan usually forgot Michael possessed, the god turned the basket back to its rightful place. With the way Ryan crouched, he was well hidden, if still just one peek inside away from being exposed.

“Michael?” a voice ventured, still some distance away. Ryan looked frantically up at Michael, wanting more instruction, more reassurance than what he had been giving.

“It’ll be fine,” Michael said, eyes darting behind him still. “I think I know who it is - I’ll get him out of here in no time. Just -” He looked desperately down at Ryan, like he wanted to say or do something else. “Be still and quiet.” he said eventually, before running off towards the source of the noise.

Ryan heard nothing for a time. Just his own breathing and rapid pulse, which he tried to coerce into peaceful rhythms, somewhat unsuccessfully. Still, it was five minutes or so and he had yet to hear anything. No arguments, no struggle, the sound of Michael getting slaughtered for keeping a mortal man in his midsts - none of that.

“...And then Gavin had the nerve to try to wrestle me for the gold.” That was Michael’s voice, and Michael’s shoe on the tile floor, coming closer.

“Did you win?” A man’s voice asked.

“Of course I won! I know Gavin’s the ruler of the underworld and whatever, but he doesn’t have to have the strength of a skeleton to boot.” The stranger laugh, loud and bawdy, like he was a cup of wine short of being inconsolably drunk.

“I wish I could’ve seen it, what a prick,” The man spoke in such a fond way, despite his words.

“I know, Geoff. Anyway, I’m sorry I can’t stay with you longer. Burnie’s been on my ass about the lightning bolts, and then there’s the arrows to make and -”

“What happened to all your swords?”

Ryan sucked in a breath and held it. He tried to crouch even further down into the basket, if that were possible. He saw a flash of cloth and nearly yelled, before he saw the color and recognized that Michael was leaning up against the basket, using his body to somewhat protect him. He heard the other god stumble around nearby, probably looking at all the felled swords.

“Right, they were defected. All of ‘em - impure metals,”

“Huh, they look fine to me.”

A pause. Ryan bit his lip and clenched his hands around his bent knees. “And that’s why you’re the god of grapes, Geoff.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” There was an indignant sniff. “I’m also a patron of the theater.”

“Right, so sorry, oh cultured sir.”

“Yeah, yeah. Do you need help with -”

“No, no! That’s what, um, the automatons are for. Really, Geoff, any other time would have been fine, but I’m too busy now. I’ll see you as soon as I’m done, promise. Just give me a few days.”

Ryan’s legs were cramping, and it was becoming harder to remain curled up. He tried to force the thought into Michael’s head, hoping the other would be able to usher Diony- sorry, ‘Geoff’ away. Instead he heard Geoff sigh.

“You know you wouldn’t be doing all this now if you spent more time in the workshop and less with the humans downstairs.”

Michael shifted, like he wanted to spring up, but he resolutely remained planted in front of Ryan’s hiding spot. “How do you mean?”

“Well, you’re never here when me or any other god calls on you. You’re not with them or Gavin, so -” Ryan imagined the other shrugged at this moment, “What else would you be doing?”

“It’s not a crime to go and mingle with mortals every once in awhile.”

“Sure, sure, but Michael, you haven’t done that since when Lindsay changed her patronage and left you for the underworld. And that was just - eons ago!”

“Has it really been that long?” Michael asked, forcefully aloof.

“Is there… someone?” Geoff asked. “I’ve been dying to know. Or a whole army of someones? A bunch of pretty, starry eyed men and women you’ve found?”

“Geoff, I don’t want to offend you, but if I even hint at what I’m doing, everyone on Olympus is gonna know.”

“Alright, alright. You’re off the hook this time. But there’s nothing to be ashamed of. They’re cute, you know? Funny little creatures.”

“Imagine if Griffon heard you say that.”

A moment of sputtering ensued. Ryan was too preoccupied with not groaning in pain from his numb legs to try and puzzle out where he’d heard the name ‘Griffon’ before.

“She’s an exception!”

“Of course, Geoff. Come on - you’ve done a good job at distracting me, but I really do need to make headway on these things. Let me walk you out, through the front door this time.”

“Sure, sure. I can see when I’m not wanted…” Michael moved off the basket and walked towards the workshop’s doors, Geoff’s feet dragging behind. Several seconds later a great door slammed shut.

Ryan knew, in the grand scheme of things, that moment wasn’t so much an out and out threat and more of an unfortunate melding of circumstances. Geoff wasn’t there to snuff out a human, and he hadn’t besides. But all those stories and plays flashed in his mind nonetheless, and he remained crouched in the basket, unwilling to move despite the painful protests his muscles made.

He could have been killed where he stood, if he had been found out. Or Michael could have pretended to hide him, only to present him to Geoff as some ill-meaning man who had snuck into his palace and was deserving of some terrible fate. Eagles pecking out his liver or an eternity spent in fire. He shivered at the thought, and couldn’t even rouse himself to poke his head out when he heard the door opening again, and Michael calling out his name.

Michael’s face appeared above the opening of the basket. “He’s gone, doesn’t suspect a thing.”

“Except that you’re spending time with humans - or just one human,” Ryan managed, miserable.

Michael tsked and held out his hand. “As if Geoff’s one to talk. That Griffon girl I mentioned? She’s a princess on some island near yours. He’s been sweet on her for years, visits her all the time, no one’s given him shit for it.”

“Griffon’s a noblewoman - not a,” He paused, as he took Michael’s arm and wrestled himself out of the basket, standing on shaky legs. “Not a random blacksmith you plucked up off the streets and shoved in silk robes.” He glanced down, noticing that getting shoved into a woven basket had left a few small tears in his paplos and knocked the crown of laurels clean off his hair. He took off the crown, fiddling with it in his hands. “Damn it all!” If the crown was his he would have thrown it, but instead he clutched it tightly to his chest instead, looking at all the discarded swords on the floor.

“Ryan…” Michael drew closer, and after a moment, put his hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “You’re upset. I told you I would keep you safe here and let a god come through here. I’m so sorry. I never thought -” He shook his head, sadly, and Ryan immediately felt worse off to see Michael glum. That was the sort of affection they had for one another; when one was happy the other followed, when one wallowed and sighed, the other felt wrong until it was fixed.

“I don’t blame you,” Ryan managed. “I’m glad you thought fast, and that Geoff wasn’t as, um, aware of his faculties as some other god may have been.”

“True enough. Come, let’s not spend any more time here.” Ryan wrapped his arm around Michael’s and they made for the workshop doors. “Let’s get you out of these clothes, hm? A bath perhaps - I promise my washroom is quite impressive.”

Ryan laughed, though more because he had to than anything else, but he let Michael lead him out of the workshop all the same. He tensed as they approached the foyer of the palace, expecting to see someone there to capture him, whisk him away - but the foyer was empty, and the grand, winding staircases leading upstairs, and the great washroom as well. The only thing that moved was a flurry automatons that left shortly after they entered, all with dripping buckets of steaming water that they had just poured into the tub.

Ryan was pulled from his morose mood by observing the new room. It was smaller than the workshop, but there was ample room left over considering the size of the bath itself. It could easily fit four men - not quite the pool he had seen at the gymnasium, but it was more impressive for what it was made from. A gargantuan piece of violet quartz had been hollowed and cut to form the tub. The outside was faceted with a hundred sharp cuts along its surface, producing pronounced edges along the surface that were less dangerous than the original outside of such a stone, but wasn’t exactly comfortable to lean against. He ran a hand along the inside of the surface, however, and found it was as smooth as the silk clothes he wore. “How marvelous,” he murmured. Michael grinned at him.

“Made it myself. The whole stone was quite a beauty.”

“I could imagine!”

Michael instructed him towards a large shelf on the side of the room, to select some soaps and oils he found pleasing to dump into the bath. Michael was already disrobing, throwing his robes over a folded out screen nearby. Ryan selected orange blossom, jasmine, all the bottles carefully labelled and numerous. He dumped them into the hot water as per Michael’s instructions, slipped his own fineries off, and joined Michael in the bath.

It was warm, luxurious. Ryan sank down enough for his head to go under the water, and when he came back up Michael was chuckling.

“What?”

“Nothing, just -” Michael put a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, “I’m glad some part of you coming here wasn’t a total disaster.”

“Well, the whole thing wasn’t a disaster,” Ryan managed, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “It was just an especially bad twenty minutes.”

“You weren’t that excited about the clothes,” Michael added. “Or all the other gifts, before that.”

“Well, I’m not that used to wooing. Being wooed.”

“Oh, believe me, you can woo,” Michael glanced appreciatively along Ryan’s exposed chest, prompting a light splash in his direction. “Hey!”

“I’m sorry, I can see why getting splashed with water while in a tub is a horrific offense, please forgive me.”

“Forgive you my ass, you’re such a cheek.” Michael managed to sidle closer anyway, nearly on top of Ryan’s lap as he pressed a fond kiss to his mouth before leaning back, scanning Ryan’s body, eyes hungry. The human had a feeling that Michael’s restraint was running low.

“Have you ever had any… guests intruding on you while you bathed?” Ryan supposed, tracing a dotted line of freckles across Michael’s shoulder with the tip of his fingernail.

“Thankfully, no. I don’t even think any god knows where it is, it’s not like they make a habit of -” Ryan leaned forward, kissing Michael intensely, pressing him against the side of the tub as he took in the deity’s heated skin. A hand went along his shoulders, another following his spine and disappearing below the water. With Michael pressed so close, the sweet smelling water felt nearly tepid. He bent down and bit the juncture of Michael’s neck and shoulder, hearing the other moan. “Gods, Ryan,”

“Didn’t you get me into the bath with the explicit reason of doing this?” Ryan managed, glancing up at Michael’s eyes.

“No,” Michael said lowly, “I got you in here to do far more than kiss.” Then it was Michael who was pulling Ryan into a frantic kiss, pushing him against the smooth stone of the tub, and doing far, far more than kissing.

 

 

 

**iii.**

“Ryan?”

Muscles twitched. An eyelid fluttered.

“Are you awake, Ryan?”

A deep breath was taken; resignation. “I seem to be. What is it?”

“I got tired of admiring you and not having an outlet for all of compliments I wish to shower upon your form.” Ryan sighed, rolled over onto his stomach, and buried his head into a pillow. He felt a warm hand on his upper thigh. “What an inspiring change of view.”

“Very funny,” Ryan said, though he was too satisfied to feel anything but extremely content. Michael had as much stamina as Ryan supposed - that is, far too much for him. And after the two rounds in the tub, half of one in the hall, and a big finish in the luxurious bed he now found himself in, he had slept with the hope that he’d be dreaming for a hundred years or so. Michael had woken him early, though. Ryan stretched, resigning himself to waking fully and, most probably, dealing with all the love bites and jelly-like limbs tomorrow at work. He voiced as much to Michael from over his shoulder.

“Who says you need to go to work?” Michael asked, wrapping his arms around Ryan, pressing his cheek into his back. “We could stay up here forever, you and me. Never getting bothered by anyone, no one taking you away from me.”

“Your possessiveness is showing,” Ryan teased.

“But doesn’t it look rather handsome on me?”

Ryan laughed. “You look handsome in anything - but it was just for a day, you promised!”

“You’re right.” Michael paused, went pensive. Ryan had closed his eyes, already starting to doze off again until Michael spoke up:  “You’re right. But perhaps one day I’ll keep you here.” A wistful sigh here. He felt fingers playing along his spine. “I should like it more than anything else.”

“You talk like I’m the first human you’ve ever loved – in all the stories I read, I’ve never heard of a god being so taken with a mere mortal –” Ryan was cut off when Michael rolled them over and pressed Ryan’s back into the bed, holding his arms as he straddled over his body. For a moment the god’s eyes were blazing, an element Ryan knew he could never control.

Michael leaned forward, voice quiet. “Perhaps I’ve enjoyed the company of a few humans before,” he admitted, running warm fingers along Ryan’s face, “but nothing has ever hit me like this. This – this fascination, this desire to share everything I have. I’d give you anything you ever wanted without a second thought.”

Michael’s speech was almost too much for Ryan’s brain to puzzle in that moment. But he managed, finally finding his voice. “All I’d ever want is you,” he replied at length. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Michael said, sounding almost surprised as the words came out of his mouth. He ran his thumb along Ryan’s jaw. “I’ve loved many others, but – this is the first time it feels different. This is the first time it means something.”

Ryan couldn’t find anything to say to that. He silently took Michael’s hand from his face and pressed kisses to his fingers, palm, and wrist, before Michael moved to lay down at his side. Their arms naturally went around one another, legs tangling like roots, fingers intertwining. Some minutes passed, they could have been sleeping, the sensation of peace of comfort overpowering for both.

Ryan tried to imagine living in Michael’s palace, but found that he couldn’t. The place was gargantuan, brimming with strange technology or - more apropos may be to say magical features - and beyond that there was a scale of grandness that he would never see in Lemnos, perhaps not even in Athens itself. And Michael wanted him to stay there. Not to keep him as a trophy or entertain him with his creations, but because he loved him. Wanted him here, closer to the heart. It was a pipe dream, he thought - he had a home, and mortals weren’t meant to dwell on Olympus.

But that was not to say that a god and a human couldn’t be together in a way that didn’t end in heartbreak or tragedy or death. And if there was ever a couple more deserving of a gentle life together, well, Ryan had never heard of them.

“I think,” Ryan began, voice barely above a whisper, “this might be the happiest day of my life.”

He heard Michael chuckle, breath against his cheek. “I can’t wait to make you say that a thousand times over.”


End file.
